Drabbles
by Ashfae
Summary: Assorted bits and pieces of fic, mostly written for memes, challenges, and the dragon-age comm's Tuesday Prompts thing. Thought I'd collect some of the ones I liked in one place. Could be anything in here, so read at your own risk.
1. Mage

**Prompt: Skullcrusher Mountain**

He dreams of being the head enchanter and transforming the order. If he was in charge, mages wouldn't be trapped by templars and the chantry with all its foolish, superstitious rules. If he was in charge everything would be fine. He'd invent new spells, more powerful than anything seen before, and everyone would be so impressed they'd bow before him. He bets that would get her attention.

Meanwhile she still doesn't know he exists. He glances her way and sighs, because she's just completed a perfect summoning spell and any day now she'll undergo the Harrowing, which she will of course pass, and then she'll be even more out of his reach than ever, because he has years or study left before he can get the power he needs to feel confident enough to talk to her.

Years later, when he's on the run from Templars who he knows full well would have caught him long ago if their numbers hadn't been so decimated by the disaster that befell the tower, he will see the Hero of Ferelden from a distance, and wonder how things would have been different he'd ever just walked up to her and introduced himself.


	2. Loghain

**Prompt: "Roots" by Show of Hands**

What sickens Loghain most, as he travels with the Warden, has nothing to do with the Warden whatsoever. They travel from place to place seeking darkspawn and the Archdemon, but what he sees is how his country has changed - not just from the Blight, but from the occupation, which sometimes he thinks no one but him remembers or cares about.

How can they not see this subtler taint? It's every bit as destructive as the darkspawn blood now flowing through his veins. Minstrels in pubs singing Orlesian songs, bits of vocabulary that have crept into the language, changed clothing, assumptions...the occupation _changed_ Ferelden, and even though he and Maric drove the bastards out, they left part of themselves behind. Everywhere he looks there's evidence of it, and there's nothing he can do but strengthen true Ferelden wherever he sees it, encourage his countrymen to remember who they are, who they were.

And there's the quandry, because this Warden, this Warden who thinks nothing of the Orlesian invasion, who didn't live through it, who wasn't there, who has fought all his attempts to heal his poor damaged country...this Warden reminds him of Maric, who will always be the best of Ferelden in his mind. And he doesn't know how to reconcile that.


	3. Zevran

**Prompt: "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga**

She doesn't want to watch him, but her eyes are always drawn his way. His grace and deadliness, his lithe body sliding between opponents, looking for - and finding - their weaknesses.

He could find all of her weaknesses, if he looked, all her vulnerable spots. And he knows it, it's there in his smirk when he looks at her, sometimes. She's torn between hating that smug confidence and wanting to fall to her knees in front of him, begging him to use her, because she's sure it would be pleasure beyond anything she could imagine. But then she wants to beat that smirk off his face, force him to his knees, make him ache with desire for her the way she does for him.

It's all wrong. She should be the one with power here. She showed him mercy, when all he deserved was death. His life is hers.

But it's not his life she wants.

She wants to bring him down, to own him, she wants him at her feet begging. She wants to beg at his feet. She wants to worship him. She wants him to worship her. She wants sex that's a battle for dominance which neither of them could be sure of winning.

Perhaps then he'd consider her an equal.

He whips around, taking down his last opponent, blood flecking his cheek, and smiles at her as though he knows her thoughts. Then he blows her a kiss, and she turns and stalks off to look for something else to kill, because that's the only thing that brings release.

And at night, when she's got one hand between her legs and her other hand scraping nails down her breasts and she's caught her blanket in her teeth so that her cries of mixed pain and pleasure are muffled, he stands silent outside her tent, smiling to himself and wondering if this will be the night he goes in and joins her...and then walks away, because half the pleasure is in the anticipation.


	4. Mistress

**Prompt: Fake Plastic Trees - Show of Hands (cover)**

She slowly takes off all her jewels and puts them in a box, placing them neatly alongside each other. Then she takes off the dress, which is more difficult on her own, but she refuses to call in one of the maids to help her; she wants to do this herself. She pulls the combs out of her hair, rakes her fingers through it until the braids are loose. It's so much longer than it used to be; that's her sign of peace, the fact that her hair is long, that she doesn't have to cut it short to keep it from being grabbed by one darkspawn or another. He loves her long hair. That thought should bring pain, but she's too tired to feel pain.

She stands there a moment, naked, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders, in her face, not thinking. This is the moment between layers, between shedding the king's mistress and...whatever she'll be next.

Then she kneels and reaches under the bed for the box she knows is still here, and out of it she pulls her old clothes, the worn ones she never let the servants get rid of, and starts pulling them on. Perhaps she always knew she'd need them again.

Once she's dressed, she will go to Anora, who is not entirely without kindness, and ask for a duty that will take her far away from Denerim. Anora won't ask questions. If she's lucky, she can be gone without seeing him. She hopes so, as much as she can feel hope. Because no matter how much she loves him - and she does love him, stil, dimly - she can't live this life anymore.


	5. Leliana

**Prompt: "Love Will Come to You" by the Indigo Girls**

She watches them constantly, without their knowledge. It's not difficult for someone of her skill, but she sometimes doubts they'd notice if she were playing her lute and singing at the top of her lungs, they're so busy with each other.

And that's good. That's fine. She likes Alistair, who is sweet and earnest and good, and she loves the story of him, the bastard son who might one day be king. And she likes the Warden, who tries so hard to make a Blighted world better, and who is already becoming a hero. Leliana had always wanted to know what real heroes, real legends would be like, and she knows well that she's now living with them. She counts herself blessed to be part of their story.

But sometimes...sometimes she watches them, the Warden leaning her head on Alistair's shoulder, and remembers long ago nights with Marjolaine, who taught her so much...not just arts of death and deception but of love, or what she thought was love.

Sometimes, Leliana wonders if she's ever known how it feels to be loved, and even though these are her beloved friends she can't help but envy them.


	6. Wynne

**Prompt: Danny Boy (traditional)**

Wynne, wandering through the Ostagar camp, stops in her tracks upon hearing a voice raised in song. It's a sweet young tenor by a campfire, singing an old song, one of the classics sung about a man who goes off to war and returns to find his sweetheart has died of grief in his absence. Other sounds seem to fade into the background as she focuses on the song, sudden tears in her eyes.

Her son...could he be somewhere here, one of these young men? One of the throng leaving behind families, lovers, home, to fight and probably die upon the morrow? She knows it's unlikely; the Chantry tends to keep what it takes, and her son is probably a monk or even a Templar somewhere. But as she looks on the young tenor, she cannot help but see the son she's never known, will never know. "May the Maker keep you safe, my boy," she whispers, walking on. "May the Maker protect all of us."


	7. Amell

**Prompt: "Forever May Not Be Long Enough" by Live**

He drags the knife across his palm, then holds his hand and lets the blood drip onto the small heap of spell components, a miscellaney of gathered herbs and lyrium dust. Carefully placed on top are several long black hairs twined together, and next to them a small, silver ring. It gleams in the moonlight, and he fancies that she knows what he's doing, fancies he can feel her mixed reaction of dismay and anger...and longing.

The Wardens changed him, fighting the Archdemon changed him, but nothing changed him so much as his love for the capricious, playful, fierce witch that he would sell his soul to find again. What was once unthinkable is now a small price to pay, and he dabbles in forbidden magic gladly. She can run as far as she wants, hide anywhere, but it won't matter; he will find her. He knows part of her hopes for it, despite herself, and that thought makes him smile to himself as the ring glows red with magical fire.


	8. Tabris

**Prompt: "The Tower" by Vienna Teng**

It's just another darkspan ambush, like hundreds they've been through before. Their motions are automatic, their teamwork flawless. Except this time something goes wrong, as Kira, instead of finishing her hurlock off and moving on to the next, just keeps _hitting_ him, over and over, with a strange intense expression on her face. She keeps stabbing him after all the other darkspawn are dead, and her teammates watch in horrified silence. There's an abortive move to the left, and Leliana sees that Alistair -his expression agonized - has taken a step forward towards their leader, then stopped himself. The emotions on his face are easy for her to read, easy for anyone to read. Alistair's never been able to hide his feelings, and it's clear he wants to go and comfort her as he used to and can't let himself and it's just killing him. And also fear, because he's never seen her do this, no one has.

Wynne and Leliana share a quick glance, then move, Wynne to Alistair and Leliana to Kira. As Wynne draws Alistair away, kind, grandmotherly voice murmuring, Leliana kneels beside the remaining Grey Warden. "I think it's dead now, dearheart," she murmurs, forcing her voice to be light and easy. "You can stop."

Kira stops, then shakes her head briefly; the mad, blank look starts to fade from her eyes. "Oh," she says. "That's...good, then." She stares silently at the rather mutilated remains of the hurlock.


	9. Sandal

**Prompt: "Fool on the Hill" by the Beatles**

He's lived on the surface for years now but it still delights him. Everywhere he looks are glorious colors, not the endless browns and reds and golds of Orzammar but shades he used to only dream of, greens and blues and the sunset in all its glory. Sunset is his favorite time, when they've all stopped to set up camp, and Leliana is trying to teach Alistair how to cook and swearing profusely in her own language all the while, and Wynne is watching and trying not to laugh, and Oghren is sharing a tankard with Bodhan, and Sten is polishing his great sword with an expression that's the closest to contentment anyone ever sees him show, and Zevran and the Warden are sparring and showing each other various tricks, and Shale is scowling at the dog, and Morrigan is building her bonfire away from the rest of the camp but still part of it, they're all part of it, including him, and he's happier than he's ever been.

Bodhan abandons Oghren and walks over, sitting next to him. "What's on your mind, boy?"

Sandal looks up, wearing his biggest grin, and gestures to everything. "Enchantment!"

And Bodhan, who knows how to listen, smiles.


	10. Fenris

**Prompt: I saw you praying in the Chantry**

"I saw you praying in the Chantry," she mentions, smiling as he approaches. "That was a bit of a surprise. I'm sure I've heard you talking with Sebastian about the Maker, and being...less than enthused."

He shrugs. "I haven't had many opportunities for prayer in my life. But I've taken them when they've presented themselves, sometimes."

"Why?"

"To see what would happen, if anything. If I'd get an answer."

"And did anyone answer?"

The responses flicker through his mind:_ No, he never answered, because he doesn't exist, and if he does exist he doesn't care. No, but a quiet space where I was unlikely to be hunted or pestered was sufficient. No, and everything is confusing and uncertain, and I don't know how to cope with uncertainty because my whole life was ordered when I was a slave, and I never realized freedom would involve so much emptiness. No, and no matter where I look for direction, the only direction I know is you. No, the Maker never did anything for me._

_But you did._

"Yes."


	11. Dream

**Prompt: You're a dream to me.**

"You're a dream to me," he whispered, learning in and brushing fingers lightly along her cheek. "I've searched for you - for this - for so long..."

"You say the most charming things."

"Will you meet me again? Tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Of course."

Quentin smiled in return. "Then I will count the minutes until I see your face again."


	12. Collective

**Prompt: A murder of crows? A mischief of mice? A bale of turtles?**

"Why is it a murder of crows?" Merrill asked. "I've never seen crows murder anyone. Do they only do it if no one's looking?"

"It's after the Antivans, Kitten," Isabela explained.

"Pretty sure it's the other way around, Rivaini." Varric muttered.

"It still doesn't make sense," Merrill complained. "A murder is a thing, or a verb. It can't be a description."

"She does have a point," Anders admitted. "Why a murder of crows? Odd word to use. What other ones are there? A mischief of mice? A consortium of cats?"

"A parliament of owls," Hawke chimed in. "A march of mabari?"

"A frolic of elves!" Varric chortled.

Isabela started laughing hysterically. "A _fraid_ of ghosts!" she managed.

Merrill huffed. "Now you're just being _silly_."


	13. Color

**Prompt: And what... is your favorite color?**

Anders frowns as he assesses the damage. "Someone ask her questions," he says absently, his hands already beginning to glow with healing energy. "I need to check for concussion. Among other things."

"Oooh, I'll do that!" Merrill says. "Hawke, what's your name?"

Hawke's eyes are bleary and confused. "Didn't you just call me Hawke?"

Merrill's face falls. "Oh. I guess I should've picked a harder one...what's your favorite color?"

"Oh, stop that, we can do better than this." Isabela shoves Merrill aside. "Who do you fantasize about most, Anders, Fenris, Merrill, or me? Or all of us at once?"

Anders is so shocked his hands stop glowing. "_Isabela_!"

"What? Don't tell me you don't want to know the answer!"

"I want to know!" Merrill chirps.

Hawke looks up at Anders. "I am hallucinating this, right? Please tell me I'm hallucinating this."


	14. Beta

**Prompt: Asking Anders to beta friend fiction  
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"Isabela..."

"All you have to do is check the spelling. You spend all that time writing manifestos, you must know how to spell."

"Better than you do, certainly. 'Breests'? 'Cok'?"

"I'm a pirate, we're not supposed to be literate."

"And yet you're trying to write smut."

"I'm a pirate, we're supposed to be obsessed with booty."

"You're so consistent. ...Andraste's flaming knickerweasels! _Isabela_! Is this about me and _Hawke_?"

"What? Don't you like it?"

"I...well...uh..."

"It's a birthday present for her. I couldn't think of anything to buy, and I know she'll like this."

"...you do?"

"Yep. If you're strapped for cash you could always help. It could be from both of us!"

"I, uh, can't...look, this position you're describing isn't even physically possible."

"Yes it is! I've done it!"

"No, I tried it once, and-"

"I swear I've done it. Let me show you-"

"_No!_"


End file.
